


Aches and Pains

by skybone



Series: Holding the Sky [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4034131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybone/pseuds/skybone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Female Inquisitor/Cassandra. Every hurt-comfort cliché in the book.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aches and Pains

**Author's Note:**

> Since Bioware made Cassandra unromanceable by a female Inquisitor I seem to be compelled to prove them wrong in every way possible. This is yet another version of How They Got Together. It is written using my Inquisitor Trev and resides in the same overall headcanon as the other FemQuisitor/Cassandra stories I've written. There are specific references "When Day and Night Meet," so that can be regarded as a prequel of sorts (but really WDANM is a prequel to all of them).

**Prologue**

The dragon's lightning bolt hit the Inquisitor from behind, taking her by surprise, and she went down like a nug hit by a war hammer. Cassandra shouted, and she and the others redoubled their efforts; they knew better than to try to do anything but kill the dragon.

When the battle was over and the dragon was dead, her first concern was for Trev. She was the first to reach the Inquisitor, dropping breathless to one knee at her side—she was alive. Cassandra had hoped to find her beginning to rouse, however muzzily, but she was still unconscious, her body lax and boneless. This was not good.

The three of them—herself, Bull and Solas—consulted. Cassandra and Solas knew what this meant, Solas from his studies and the Seeker from personal experience. "She will be unconscious for some time," said Cassandra.

"Then we need to find shelter," said Bull, looking around the snowy, windswept plain and the threatening clouds.

"There was a Dalish mark near that old ruin we passed on the way here," said Solas. "It is one that means a travel shelter. It will likely be better than anything else we can find."

Cassandra had run professional hands over the Inquisitor, looking for injuries and finding none. She shifted Trev's body, moving it into position so that she could heave it over her shoulder and stand. It was a maneuver she had done many times, and with many different people. Although armour made it more challenging, once one had the knack it was not difficult. The Inquisitor was heavy, but she would manage, if someone else could carry her shield.

But then Bull was there. "I'll take her," he said.

She moved so that he could take Trev from her. It was silly to feel so oddly bereft as the Inquisitor's weight shifted from her arms to his; his relative size and strength made any hesitation ridiculous.

By the time they reached the shelter, a little higher in the mountain pass, she was glad of Bull's strength; although she could have carried the Inquisitor, it had been a hard enough walk back in the snow and bitter wind without the additional weight. The shelter was in one small part of a much larger ruin, probably an old fortress or outpost; someone, presumably the Dalish, had rehung a door on what looked to have been a guardroom, and equipped it with supplies. There was a second room beside it that had a wooden half-door, set up as an impromptu stable, had they had any use for it.

The door could be barred, and there were two slot windows with functioning shutters. One side of the room had a hearth, the other had a good supply of stacked, seasoned wood. There were barrels with some basic stores—flour, salt, some grains and dried fruit and vegetables—and charms to keep the vermin out of them. There was a lantern on a table, and oil for it, and two battered chairs. The room was unexpectedly clean; there was a broom and evidently it had been well used. There was a rainbarrel under a waterspout a few steps outside the door; the water had a crust of ice, but it was full and seemed sweet, and there was also a full halfbarrel inside, and a bucket. There was a kettle and a pot and a few other battered items, likely collected by ransacking the rest of the fortress. The room was much better equipped than most travel shelters, so it was likely that it had been set up by someone who travelled the route regularly and knew that weather in this pass could be problematic, trapping travellers for days. When they could do so they would need to send soldiers with supplies to replace whatever they used.

There was a pallet stuffed with straw not far from the hearth. Bull laid the Inquisitor on it and Cassandra wrapped her in her blankets, and then they all looked at each other. "I know of this malady only from my reading," said Solas. "I imagine that you, Seeker, have more practical experience?"

"I took a partial bolt once, long ago," said Cassandra, "and I have seen others more seriously injured."

"I assume that she will be unconscious for some time, probably a day," said Solas, "and that after she wakes there will be some days in which she is incapacitated and cannot travel."

"The effects I saw were variable, depending on the person," said Cassandra. "Some people recovered in just a few days, others took quite a bit longer. We must get help. This place can shelter us for a few days, but not for a long time."

"Then you must stay, Cassandra," said Bull. "Solas and I can bring a squad with supplies, and if the weather stays good, horses. Then we can move her even before she is fully recovered."

"I would not count on the weather," said Solas. "I think it is changing. You and I must be on our way as quickly as we can. If a storm brings a great deal of snow we will still make it through, but it may take longer, and the return will certainly take longer as well."

Each of them carried their own supplies when on expedition, so there was little to divide. Bull gave Cassandra a packet of spices and a meaningful look, saying that it would make the food they had more interesting, and both of them gave her some dried meat, as she would not necessarily be able to hunt. Solas also gave Cassandra a potion flask with strict instructions for its use. "It cannot cure her, and it cannot speed up her recovery, but it is possible that with it she may be a little more comfortable."

Cassandra was doubtful, knowing what was in store, but was willing to try anything.

*           *           *

It was very quiet once they had left. She cautiously lit a fire; the wood was dry and well seasoned and burned well, and the chimney appeared to have no obstructions, which was a relief. Dislodging birds-nests or other debris from a chimney was a task she hated—it was dirty, messy, undignified, and never as effective as one would hope—and she was thankful that for once it was not necessary.

The pallet was big enough for two, and reasonably thick. Cassandra thought resignedly of fleas and was grateful for the charm that each of the Companions carried on their travels. It was not foolproof, some vermin always seemed to avoid its effects, but it kept away most of them. She spread out her bedroll next to Trev.

And then she looked at the Inquisitor, who had not moved from where Bull had laid her. Cassandra pulled the blankets off, rolled her until she could unstrap Trev's weapons and remove them, and then began to unbuckle Trev's armor. She got Trev down to shirt and breeches, and decided to stop there for the time being; it was still cold in the shelter. She arranged the Inquisitor in as comfortable a position as she could, made a crude pillow for her head from the change of clothes Trev carried, and wrapped her in both of their sets of blankets.

The Inquisitor seemed somehow smaller than usual. Cassandra looked at her for a moment and felt an unexpected ache.

_You let her come to harm_ , said the ache.

_Nonsense_ , she said to it briskly. _It could have happened to any of us; it is the kind of risk we take when we hunt dragons. And she will recover._

_You let her come to harm_.

She dismissed the ache with some irritation, and began to arrange her gear; it did not take long, as she did this every day when on expedition, setting her things out precisely, to be immediately ready to hand whether in light or darkness. Then she arranged the Inquisitor's gear. This didn't take much longer, as she often shared a tent with Trev and knew how she ordered her things.

She stepped out of the shelter and explored for a little distance. There were signs of small animals, probably fennec and hares. She went back and found some wire in her gear and set snares in likely places. She was not able to hunt as an archer did, but with luck the snares would catch something and they would have a little fresh meat.

It was getting late, and the light was going. It was beginning to snow, and the wind was picking up. She saw no point in cooking; Trev would not be able to eat tomorrow, and there was no need to spend any unnecessary effort on preparing food for herself. She chewed some jerky and ate stale biscuits with a little cheese and drank some water. She looked consideringly at the Inquisitor. Perhaps she should try to give her a little water? No. It was not worth the risk of choking her.

She passed time in the meditative exercises she had learned for her vigil, and in prayer, and found herself praying that the Inquisitor's travails would be short. She went to sleep early and set her mind to sleep for as long as she could; she thought that it was likely to be the last good sleep she would have for some time. 

**Days One and Two**

The next day was every bit as unpleasant as Cassandra had feared.

When she opened the door early in the morning she found that the storm Solas had warned of had indeed swept through the pass, and there was a great deal more snow than there had been. The party sent to help them would be delayed.

It was nearly noon before Trev finally woke, if it could be called waking. The Seeker had stepped out to check the snares, which had taken more time than expected because of the new snow, and found that one had taken a fennec. When she came back, she heard a noise from the shelter, and dropped the fennec outside in her haste to get through the door.

It was a small mewling sound, the sound of an animal driven past its ability to keep silent, and a rough, irregular panting. Trev had somehow, impossibly, gotten herself off the pallet; it looked as if she had been instinctively trying to crawl to shelter and safety, but of course she could not. She was not crawling now; she did not seem to be fully conscious. Her arms and legs were trembling, and there was that dreadful noise. Cassandra knelt by her and touched her gently, and felt her flinch, and the sound stopped.

"Inquisitor," said Cassandra. Her voice felt strange and hoarse. She cleared her throat. "Inquisitor, you are safe. Can you hear me?" There was no response. "Trev? Can you hear me?"

One half-shut eye opened, then, and tried to focus. "I must move you," Cassandra said. "I am sorry." She did not want to touch the Inquisitor—she knew exactly what a touch felt like when you had been hit with this kind of dragon's bolt—but she also knew that a straw pallet would be marginally less painful than a flagstone floor, and warmer.

She handled the Inquisitor as little as possible, but by the time she was back on the pallet Trev's eyes were shut again, and it wasn't clear if she was still conscious. There was a sheen of sweat over her, and the tremor was intensifying. Cassandra was sweating herself, not with the effort of moving Trev, which was insignificant, but from the stress of causing the Inquisitor pain, which went against all her instincts and yet was unavoidable.

"Trev," said Cassandra, crouching by her, "listen to me. You must hear me. The pain—it will pass. I know this. It has happened to me. You must endure. You _can_ endure. It will pass. You will be all right."

The Inquisitor's eyes had opened, and fixed on the Seeker's face. There was a level of panic in them that Cassandra had never seen there before; she knew it for the expression that had been on her own face when this had happened to her, the panic of not being able to control your body, of not knowing if you could survive the pain, and wondering if you wanted to. But she had survived, and Trev would do so as well.

"The dragon's bolt struck you full on," she said. "But you will be all right. We are safe here, and the others have gone for help. The pain will pass in a day. There will be convulsions, but they will also pass. You will not be able to control your limbs for some time after that, and there will still be tremors for a time, but this will pass. It will all pass. You _will_ be all right. I promise this, and you know I do not lie."

Trev was still taking great panting breaths, strained gaps of silence between each one, and the tremors still shook her, but the look of terror in her eyes had faded. But she did not stop watching Cassandra.

The Seeker moved a hand toward the Inquisitor, and then stopped herself. The compulsion to put her arms round Trev, to hold her, was almost overwhelming. Not doing so made her heart ache, and the ache insisted, _She is hurting. Hold her, show her that you care for her. Show her—_

She is my friend, Cassandra told the ache firmly, _and she already knows that I care for her. And I cannot touch her now_.

_Touch her, comfort her. You must._

But she could not. It was a natural reaction to seeing a friend in pain, but impossible. "I cannot touch you," she said. "I would only hurt you more. But I am here, and I will not leave."

There was a motion by her knee. Trev's hand was reaching toward her. The Inquisitor should not have been able to control her arms at all, but this was not the random twitching characteristic of this condition. _Touch her_ , said the ache, desperately. Cassandra looked at the hand, then at Trev's face, and then shifted to a cross-legged position she could maintain for a long time, and slid her hand very gingerly under the Inquisitor's, careful not to close her fingers or grip in any way, careful to be very still.

The Inquisitor closed her eyes and her breathing became fractionally more even.

Later Cassandra thought that she would rather have endured the bolt herself than go through that time again. Her mind had blessedly forgotten much of the pain of her own experience, but she remembered enough, and the Inquisitor had taken the full force of a bolt, so the effects lasted longer. Trev slid in and out of consciousness; awake she was silent but for the laboured breathing, but unconscious she could not stop herself from making sounds. Later the convulsions started, and all Cassandra could do was put her hands under the Inquisitor's head to prevent her from hurting herself as she thrashed. By that time Trev's clothes were soaked with sweat, but Cassandra could not bring herself to put Trev through the pain that would be required to remove them. She built up the fire and hoped that with the blankets it would serve to keep her warm enough. When Trev was awake she tried to give the Inquisitor water and some of Solas's potion, but she retched most of it back up; the Seeker could only hope that a little stayed down.

It went on through the day and into the night and the next day, and the light was fading in the sky again before Cassandra realized that Trev was sleeping, not unconscious but sleeping, and that there had been no convulsions for some time. The worst was over.

And then she could rest herself, a little. 

**Day Three**

Cassandra slept lightly and uneasily, ready to respond to the least signal, but apart from the constant trembling, Trev did not move. The Seeker finally woke properly in the early light of morning, beside Trev on the pallet, and turned her head to look at her. The Inquisitor's face had lost colour in a way that the Seeker did not like, and her eyes were sunken and shadowed.

In the aftermath of a dragon's bolt, racked by pain, it was rare for someone not to vocalize their suffering. When she had been struck, Cassandra had ridden the waves of pain in stubborn silence; to make a sound would have been to allow weakness to show, and she had been young and proud and could not permit herself to do that. But Trev had never seemed embarrassed if others saw her vulnerabilities, a strength of character Cassandra sometimes envied.

Yet through all this, when the Inquisitor was conscious enough to know what she was doing, she had been silent. Cassandra had a suspicion that the effort Trev made in remaining so had been for the Seeker's sake, and not her own; the Inquisitor did not like to trouble others. _She suffers_ , said the ache in her heart, _and still tries to protect you_ , and the Seeker's hands clenched into fists.

Cassandra slid silently from the pallet and dressed. She had not looked outside again since Trev had woken in pain; now she put on her boots and made a short excursion to clear snow from the doorway and empty the chamberpot.

When she returned she removed her boots, built up the fire, and then began to stretch as she always did in the mornings to loosen and prime her muscles, and when done with that she made her devotions. When she finished she saw that Trev's eyes were open and watching her.

Cassandra could snatch moments of prayer at any time, and often did so, but to make her devotions properly, with full mindfulness and respect, was important to her, and not an activity for display. This was something that was private and precious, something between her and the Maker. She knew that she was more pious than most, and disliked the fact that this was sometimes remarked on. On expeditions she either found a private place to pray or put it off until she could; she did not like having the presence of others intrude on this time.

Yet she found now, somewhat to her own surprise, that she did not mind the Inquisitor's presence and awareness. Perhaps it was because she was the Herald of Andraste, and the Maker's hand lay on her. But she also did not feel that Trev watched and judged, but rather that she simply accepted Cassandra's devotion as something to be respected, something which was otherwise unremarkable.

It was an unexpectedly comfortable feeling.

She moved to the pallet and knelt beside the Inquisitor. Trev tried to speak, but her lips had difficulty in forming words, and her face showed her frustration. "Let me tell you what has happened," said Cassandra quickly, and after a moment Trev made a motion that might have been a nod, and the Seeker told her everything that had happened since she was struck down. "I think it will be some days before help can get to us," she said finally. "But it will also be some time before you are returned to normal. So for the next few days, there will be little to do except wait. We have food and shelter and plenty of wood for the fire; we will not be uncomfortable." Trev nodded, her face shadowed.

"Solas left a potion," said Cassandra. "I do not know if it will help, but I have been giving it to you, and can give you more. Do you want it?" Trev nodded again, and so Cassandra lifted her into a half-sitting position and held the flask while she drank, and then, at the expression on the Inquisitor's face, held the waterskin. A considerable amount spilled because of the tremors, but enough went down to satisfy the Seeker. She hoped it would stay down. The Inquisitor looked a little queasy when she finished drinking, but also stubborn, which was a good sign.

The water stayed down, and a little later Cassandra gave her more. Later still, the Seeker soaked some dried meat and made broth, and managed to feed some of it to Trev, a messy process for both of them. It was not very interesting broth—Cassandra was not a very good cook, and knew it—but it was food, and both of them needed it. Cassandra had eaten nothing the day before; she had felt no interest in food then, and could do perfectly well for a day without it. But today both of them needed to eat.

The tremors lasted all day, sometimes surging to a level that set the Inquisitor's limbs twitching uncontrollably, and each time it happened she ended up soaked in sweat. But now she could be touched without causing her pain, and so Cassandra was able to get her out of her clothes, wrapping her in one set of blankets for warmth while the others dried before the fire.

With water and broth came other issues. The tremors made the use of the chamber pot challenging, even with help, and it was on the whole a good thing that she had been stripped of her clothes. Cassandra could see the Inquisitor's level of frustration and embarrassment rising at her helplessness and the difficulties they encountered, and her reliance on the Seeker for such personal needs, though she said and did nothing to make Cassandra suffer for it.

Cassandra thought back to her own experience of the dragon's bolt, of being so helpless and reliant on the care of others for the most basic necessities. It would certainly be accurate to say that she had been a difficult patient, and ungracious. The memories of her behaviour were, in truth, more than somewhat embarrassing, and it had been clear to everyone involved that it would have, if it had been physically possible, involved throwing things. It was fortunate that she had not had the ability at the time.

But Trev did not show any signs of such incontinent anger. The Inquisitor did not have the reputation for an iron will that Cassandra did, but the Seeker thought that maintaining courtesy in the face of such strong provocation indicated a strength of character that was at least equal to her own, and considerably more subtle.

By the time night fell again Trev was grey with exhaustion. Cassandra had extended the broth into a stew by adding dried vegetables and grains, at least she supposed that would be what it was called, although after it had simmered for so long she thought it might better be called mush—and got a little into the Inquisitor. It was edible, at least, if not particularly appetizing. 

**Day Four**

The next day was better. Now the Inquisitor could speak, and manage her body a little more, and the tremors were beginning to abate. She spent most of her time trying to control her wayward limbs, to stubbornly force them to do as she wished them to do. She seemed to think that she could recover through pure force of will, and, given her determination, Cassandra was not entirely certain that she was wrong.

But she could not stand without the Seeker's support, and although the tremors were fading, she was still terribly weak. She had insisted on dressing, a task that required assistance, and then asked Cassandra to help her to a chair. She was able, just able, to hold herself there, but together with her attempts to force her limbs to obey her, the persistent effort to sit upright clearly drained her. Toward the end of the day, as she tired, she had begun to slump badly, and Cassandra, worried, thought that soon she would need to help her back to the pallet before she fell off the chair.

"You should rest again," she said to Trev.

"I want to wash," said Trev, "but I—I would need help. I can't manage the water."

"I can look after that," said Cassandra. "We both need a wash, I think." This was certainly true; Trev was ill and both of them had been badly stressed, and their bodies signaled it. Normally on expeditions it would not have been an issue, as they spent their days in the fresh air, but with the shutters closed for warmth the shelter was not well ventilated, and the need to bathe had become obvious.

Washing would make Trev feel better. It would certainly make the Seeker feel better. And they could put on cleanish clothes. On expedition everyone carried a complete change of clothes with them, so a wet set could dry by the fire while the other was worn. She had not bothered with clean clothes previously, for either herself or Trev; it had seemed pointless under the circumstances.

She heated water, and found their soap and wash rags, and helped Trev undress, and then stripped down herself. Standing on the stone floor and scrubbing herself with a wet soapy cloth, and then sluicing herself with clean water, was not as good as a bath, but she did feel much better afterwards; her skin felt extraordinarily alive. Trev still could not stand, so she stayed in the chair to wash, and her shakiness made her much slower than Cassandra, who had dried herself off and dressed again before Trev had finished. She dropped her rag several times, requiring Cassandra's assistance to retrieve it, and finally the Seeker offered to wash her back and then pour the rinse water over her. "No," said Trev, her voice tight. "I will do it." And then she dropped the washrag again.

Cassandra simply handed it to her. For a moment Trev stared at the wet soapy rag in her hand. Her knuckles were white. And then she loosened her grip and looked up at the Seeker and said quietly, "I need your help."

Cassandra, washing Trev's back, thought that the knobs of her spine were more prominent than they had been the last time she had seen them. Well, that would make sense, after the last few days. Trev was lean and wiry to begin with, with the agile physique of a rogue, strong but with less bulk than a warrior would carry, and weight loss would be more quickly obvious.

Cassandra was happy with her own body, which she knew to be well formed and attractive as well as strong and fit, and she was proud of it, but she also had a great aesthetic appreciation for the leaner body type that the Inquisitor exemplified. She loved the flow of long smooth muscles on the body of a woman like Trev, the suggestion of sinewy strength under the surface; there was an implication of hidden power that was very compelling. Watching the play of the Inquisitor's muscles when she stripped always gave the Seeker great pleasure—though she was careful not to be too obvious in her observations, not wanting this aesthetic appreciation to be misinterpreted.

She poured water over Trev's back, watching it run in fine lines over her ribs, and felt a sudden aching protective tenderness.

_This is your place_ , said the ache, and she knew exactly what it meant.

After the Conclave had thrown everything into disarray she had been uncertain of her direction; but then she had committed to the Herald and the Inquisition and found her duty. She was sworn to protect the Herald, the Inquisitor. Trev would recover from the dragon's bolt, and go on, and the Seeker would stand at her back, ready to fight beside her, ready to step between her and all threats, to defend her against all dangers, until they had accomplished all they set out to do. That was her place, her task, and she knew it. In great contentment, she rubbed Trev's back dry with a rag, found her change of clothes while the Inquisitor finished drying herself, and helped her into them. "In a day or two," she said, "we will try to wash clothes as well."

Trev looked exhausted, and on a whim, instead of helping her try to stand and supporting her across to the pallet, Cassandra simply scooped her up and carried her. "I can—" Trev protested.

"Tomorrow you will," said Cassandra. " But tonight you are tired, and there is no need." She crouched down and lowered the Inquisitor onto the straw tick, then pulled the blankets up around her. Before she could stand again Trev put a hand on her arm. She could still feel the trembling, but even that was fading and would be gone soon.

"You are very patient," said the Inquisitor, "and very kind."

The ache twitched violently. Cassandra gave a bark of laughter. "There are few who would agree with you," she said, and stood to sweep the water on the floor back into a corner so it would not be tracked everywhere. Trev's eyes followed her for a little longer, until she fell asleep. 

**Day Five**

The Inquisitor ate everything Cassandra put in front of her, evidently determined to fuel her recovery as quickly as possible. This was an usual experience for the Seeker, whose cooking was known by all to be unimaginative; usually on small expeditions without the support of the scouts someone, anyone, would volunteer to cook if it meant avoiding Cassandra's efforts. She was mildly affronted by this—her cooking was not _that_ bad. It was edible. It was just somewhat... uninteresting. She had never really seen cooking as an important skill. It was not that she did not enjoy good food—she did—but she thought that too often, much that was done with it was wasteful of effort and resources better spent on other tasks. And she had no patience whatsoever with the elaborate concoctions of Orlesian chefs. She preferred knowing what she was eating, and, for that matter, knowing whether what was on her plate was food or a decoration. If she cooked, she cooked plain food, simply, and everyone knew what they were getting.

Which, she admitted privately to herself, was likely why everyone avoided her cooking.

As a child who was noble she had never needed to cook, and it would in fact have been viewed as inappropriate for her to do so. Such distinctions of station did not exist among the Seekers, of course, and they were trained in basic skills to make them self sufficient, but only to a limited degree. She had never really gotten the knack of using herbs and spices to best effect, beyond a few simple combinations, but if she really wanted to, she could produce results better than her reputation suggested. And as Trev began to recover, she found that she did want to feed her something that was actually enjoyable to eat. She wanted to see pleasure on Trev's face, not the impassive expression usual with those who ate meals she prepared. Trev had endured so much over the past days, and was still so haggard, that she wanted—well, she wanted to cook something for her that was more interesting than usual, to whet her appetite and give her pleasure. And it was not as if they had a great deal to do, she told herself; it would help to fill the time.

The fennec she had first trapped, forgotten outside the door, had disappeared, taken by a larger predator, and so had something caught in the second snare, which she had not checked soon enough, leaving only blood and a few bits of fur behind. But having reset the snares, she took two hares. She butchered them, set the meat in water in a pot over the fire, added dried vegetables and, inspired, dried apple, and began to experiment with the packet Bull had left her, which proved to contain several smaller packages of herbs and spices, some unfamiliar to her. Rather than seasoning the stew directly, she drew a little broth from the pot and experimented with adding them to that; there was no point in asking for trouble. Eventually, somewhat to her surprise, she came up with something, a combination of herbs she was familiar with and one of Bull's unknown spices, that was actually rather good. Now she added them cautiously to the pot, tasting as she did, until she thought she had achieved the flavour she wanted, and left it to simmer. Then she mixed flour, salt, and cold water into dumplings and dropped them into the stew.

When she gave the Inquisitor a helping, Trev took a mouthful, chewed, and stopped abruptly, staring at the food in her metal cup. Cassandra watched nervously, not at all sure what this indicated. Then Trev said, "This is _good_ ," and commenced to eat the whole thing and ask for more, and then more again. There had been a note of surprise in the Inquisitor's voice that was not entirely complimentary, but on the whole Cassandra felt absurdly happy with Trev's response.

*           *           *

Cassandra had never spent much time alone with the Inquisitor. She spent a great deal of time _with_ her, yes, but it was usually as part of a group, whether on an expedition or a patrol or in Skyhold. Even when one of them sought the other out to discuss something, there were often people around; they rarely spoke privately. She tried to think when she had last been absolutely alone with the Inquisitor and could not remember.

In Skyhold, when she saw Trev, the Inquisitor was often acting in her official capacity, and spoke accordingly, which gave a sense of her strength of character, intelligence, and diplomatic and strategic abilities, but said less of her personal thoughts and opinions. She would drink in the tavern from time to time, but tended to listen more than speak when she did, though she occasionally told funny stories. When travelling, she was not particularly talkative, but then no one was; they were not on a social outing, after all, and although there was certainly banter, in which the Inquisitor gave as good as she got, they usually saved their breath for the walking. Occasionally in camp someone would start an argument, or tell a story—Varric was good for both, although of course she had no intention of letting know how much she enjoyed either offering—and then others might or might not join in. Sometimes the Inquisitor would have something to add, and sometimes she would just listen. She rarely mentioned anything about her past, before Haven. It occurred to Cassandra that although she knew enough to have great respect for the Inquisitor, and to like her very much, in some ways she did not know her very well.

But now there were only the two of them. For the first three days the Inquisitor could not really speak; but even after that Trev did not seem to have a great deal to say. She passed most of her time silently, working her body to try and bring it back under her control. Cassandra was not inclined to meaningless chat, and so on the whole it was a very quiet few days. The Inquisitor did not appear to be uncomfortable with the Seeker's silence, or to expect her to break it for the sake of social interaction. Cassandra, always unhappy and tongue-tied when faced with expectations that she speak to others simply for the sake of speaking, found this very restful.

Perhaps it was this lack of pressure that caused Cassandra to find herself inclined to friendly conversation in the evenings, and willing to start it. And certainly the Inquisitor seemed pleased to converse with her.

On the evening of the fifth day Trev had seemed less tired, though she had ceased to try to school her body to obedience, and had simply watched Cassandra at her cooking. After they ate, she said, "I think that you have been hiding something from us, Seeker."

Cassandra felt herself flush. "I—this was luck. I am not a good cook."

"I think perhaps it is more that you do not care to _try_ be a good cook," said Trev, grinning. "But your capability is now proven. And I am very thankful for it. But you realize, do you not, that now I have information with regard to your culinary skills with which I can blackmail you?"

Cassandra looked at her and narrowed her eyes. "No one would believe you."

The Inquisitor laughed. "Perhaps you are right. But it might be interesting to try to convince them... if there was good reason to." She seemed supremely unconcerned by Cassandra's scowl, and the Seeker sighed internally. The Inquisitor had always seemed strangely immune to her intimidation, even when it had been seriously meant.

"Tell me, Inquisitor," she said, trying to change the subject, "if you do not mind the question... I know why you were at the Conclave, but... it was not as a member of the Chantry, but to assist your relatives there. Yet House Trevelyan is known to send its youngest members to serve the Chantry. You are considerably older than most who take service; how did you come not to serve?"

Trev sobered abruptly. She opened her mouth and then shut it again. "I'm sorry," said Cassandra quickly. "I did not mean to pry."

"No," said the Inquisitor, "it's all right. It's just... old pains." She took a deep breath. "It was expected that I would serve the Chantry. I was raised knowing that I must serve the Chantry, for I am the youngest child in my family.

"But I refused. My refusal was a source of great conflict between myself and my parents—a Trevelyan does not refuse service. I was young when I first refused, and they thought I would grow out of it, but I didn't, and I have continued to refuse. My father came very close to disowning me for it—I think it was only my mother's influence that prevented him from doing so.

"I was asked to assist my cousins at the Conclave, and I had no reason not to do so. I think that my father thought it would position me advantageously, and had likely made some arrangements to encourage my... recruitment. I imagine that if all had gone well some functionary would have approached me with an offer, and I would have refused it, and my father might well have disowned me after all," she said bleakly, then sighed.

"But things didn't work out that way. After the Conclave... I sent a letter to let them know I was alive. They replied that now it was even more important than ever that I serve the Chantry and advance myself. I... did not reply to that letter. By now they will have heard of the Inquisition, and that I have been named the Herald of Andraste, and that I am the Inquisitor. Perhaps," she said bitterly, "they will think that this is an adequate position for me to hold in lieu of what they prefer."

After a moment, Cassandra said gently, "Why did you refuse? It can be a route to power and influence, especially for younger children."

The Inquisitor looked at her. "Because I don't believe. Someone who joins the Chantry, whether as templar or cleric, should believe in its teachings."

"And you do not," Cassandra said. She had known this, Trev had said as much when the Seeker asked her what she believed, long ago in Haven, but in some ways, somehow, she had not understood it.

"I believe in much that Andraste taught," said the Inquisitor. "But I don't believe in all of it, or in all of the things we are taught about her. And I don't believe in the Chantry's mission—or at least, I question many aspects of it. I respect those who do believe. But I cannot. I wish I could; it would certainly make things easier."

"I think that there are many in the Chantry who do not believe in all of its teachings," said Cassandra somewhat wryly. "They do not let that stop them from serving. But you—" She stopped. "You have made an honourable choice," she said finally. "It is more honourable than that of many who choose to serve. And who knows? You are the Herald of Andraste. It may be that you have been set on this road so that you can serve the Maker in other ways; and for that your faith is not needed."

"You are more tolerant than many Andrastians," said Trev.

"I do not believe that the Maker needs my intercession to correct those who do not believe as I do," said Cassandra simply. "I believe that the Chant of Light should be spread to all corners of the world, to be shared, for I see that it offers light in darkness; but I do not think belief should be _forced_ upon people. In that sense it may be that I am not a very good Andrastian."

The Inquisitor gave her a crooked smile. "If all Andrastians shared your views, it might be that I would have found it easier to believe," she said.

Cassandra said slowly, "I do not believe that forcing someone to something is the way to make anyone believe in it, whether it is faith or something more... mundane. My uncle wished me to forget dragon hunting and be a beautiful lady, clad in fine dresses, married advantageously to a noble and producing heirs like a brood mare; he only succeeded in convincing me that I desired none of those things."

"And yet you are beautiful even without the dresses," said Trev, leaving the Seeker flustered and speechless. Was the Inquisitor flirting? Surely not; the Seeker had long ago made it plain that she did not welcome such attentions. This was probably a genuine compliment—which in some ways was even more unsettling.

But then the Inquisitor said, "But speaking of dresses—what exactly _are_ the fashions of Nevarra like? Are they as ridiculous as those of Orlais? I know that Leliana and Josephine find such things delightful, and certainly I can appreciate the beauty of a dress, but I think that too often they distract from the beauty of the person wearing them. And generally speaking, I prefer to see them on someone else. I find that I am very thankful for dress uniforms."

"They are less outrageous than those of Orlais," said Cassandra, pulling herself together and hoping she was not flushing, "but they are not exactly... friendly. For many years, because of the influence of the Mortalitasi, it has been the fashion to incorporate icons of the dead into the designs. A beautiful dress with a pattern of skulls is not entirely enticing, and when real skulls are used the effect is less than delicate."

The Inquisitor stared at her, gaping. Cassandra looked back impassively. But she was not practiced at this kind of dissembling, and something in her expression must have given her away.

The Inquisitor buried her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking, and said indistinctly, "I _believed_ you."

And Cassandra allowed herself a smile. It was a satisfactory payback for her earlier discomposure. 

**Day Six**

The worst thing about the Inquisitor's recovery, once the pain and most of the tremors had passed, was the boredom. By the sixth day she could walk short distances, but she was still far too weak to do much, and although they had begun to enjoy their conversations, neither wished to converse constantly.

Cassandra found it easier. There were often chores to do, and when there were not, there were the meditative practices she had learned as a Seeker in preparation for her vigil, which were both restful and refreshing. Bringing herself back after one of these exercises, she found Trev, who had been dozing when she began, watching her. "Is it possible for someone who is not a Seeker to learn how to do that?" she said.

"Yes, I believe so, " said Cassandra. "If you wish, I could teach you. They are simply techniques to relax and focus the mind. We use them to empty ourselves, to lose ourselves, in order to be filled with our faith. But they are not secret, and I see no reason why others should not benefit from them."

"There are certainly times when being able to relax and focus the mind better would be of great benefit to me," said Trev feelingly.

"I also find them helpful when trying to sleep," said Cassandra.

Trev's head came up at that. "That—would be a great benefit as well," she said.

"Do you often find it hard to sleep?"

Trev hesitated. "More often than I would like."

An image of Trev alone and unwillingly awake in the Inquisitor's quarters late at night suddenly came into Cassandra's mind, and she remembered nights on expedition when Trev came very late to the tent they shared, puzzlingly late, and the ache twinged. She had thought—

She had _not_ thought of Trev unable to sleep before, but of course it made sense. She bore responsibility for many people, many decisions; Cassandra recalled the nights when she herself was still an advisor, before Trev was made Inquisitor, and how difficult many of them had been, and thought how much worse they would have been had she not known how to calm herself. She should have thought of this before. _You have been selfish_ , said the ache.

_Not intentionally_ , she thought irritably. _And now I know better_.

"I will teach you," she said, and began to do so.

*           *           *

"Thank you," Trev said later. "I think that will help."

"It takes time to learn to do these exercises properly, to put yourself in the right state of mind," said Cassandra, "and so far I have only explained a little. But they help me think as well as sleep, and I find that they calm me when I am upset." She caught Trev's raised eyebrow and said, "Yes, I know. It is obvious that I do not use them _all_ the time," and the Inquisitor laughed.

After a moment Cassandra said, "We put a great deal on you. I am sorry."

"It is Corypheus that is the source of the problem," said Trev, looking at her hands, "not the expectations of the Inquisition."

"I know that," said the Seeker. "But I am still sorry, for the weight you must bear." Trev did not say anything and did not look up.

Cassandra hesitated, then said, "You said to me once, in Haven, that you found it hard to believe in your ability to lead us to victory. Do you still feel that way?"

There was a long pause, and then the Inquisitor said, "Sometimes. But that was a bad time. When I feel that way now, it is easier to go on as if I believed."

"There have been many times when I have not believed in myself," said Cassandra after a moment, "and have gone on as if I did."

Trev looked at her. "That's hard to imagine; you always seem very certain when you take action."

"It is _because_ I have taken action that I seem certain," said the Seeker wryly. "I do not do well at sitting and waiting. Doing things gives me confidence. But I do not always know if I have done the right thing. And I do not always know if I am capable of what I have chosen to do. But I do it anyway. I do the best I can. That is all anyone can do."

"Is it?" said Trev. There was an expression on the Inquisitor's face that Cassandra could not at first read. She was staring at her hands again, as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. Then she stood, still a little unsteady on her feet, and walked away to stare at the fire, putting her hands together behind her back.

"If the best I can do is not enough—if what we do together is not enough—then the world will end."

There was no point in lying. "Yes," said Cassandra.

The expression had been anguish. Cassandra's ache found this unbearable. _No_ , it protested. _Do something_.

"But that is not a reason not to fight," she said. "You know this. We have many resources, and every day more come to fight under our banner. You may not feel that you have the ability to lead us to victory, but every day you show that you can. Not everyone can be a leader; but you are the person who pulls us all together, and that, as much as anything, will be what gives us victory."

"I am a symbol," said the Inquisitor in a neutral voice. The knuckles of her hands were white where they gripped behind her back.

"Yes," said Cassandra, and then, "No. It is not just that you are a symbol. It is who you are. _You_ , not the Inquisitor." She stopped, and her heart clenched. She wanted...

_Say it_ , said the ache.

"Trev... I am sworn to protect the Inquisitor. I will stand behind you and beside you and before you, wherever I am needed, to defend you. I do it because I am sworn to the Inquisition. You know this. But perhaps you do not know that I also do it because I believe that with you we will prevail. And more, I do it because you are my friend. You have my duty, but not just my duty—it is also my choice. If the world ends, I would choose to fall fighting by your side."

She did not say everything. She did not say that if the world ended, she would not want to be anywhere other than at Trev's side.

She could not see the Inquisitor's expression. Trev was standing very still. Eventually she said in a careful voice, "I hope that will not be necessary. But there is no one that I would rather have stand beside me, whether it is the end of the world or not."

When she finally turned around, her face was a mask, though there was a tiny muscle jumping in her jaw. But then she seemed to make an effort, and the mask slid away, and it was Trev again.

_This is your place_ , said the ache.

And then the Inquisitor turned the conversation to the question of when a party would be able to make it through the snow to them, or if she would be able to travel before that happened, and made a joke about the impatience Solas must feel with others travelling in snow.

Later, lying on the pallet, Cassandra turned her head a little. Trev lay facing away from her, breathing slowly and evenly, but the Seeker did not think she was asleep. Cassandra turned her head back and stared into the darkness. She felt as if something dangerous and fragile had been said, and she did not know what to do with it.

She had known for a long time that she was willing to give her life for the Inquisitor, if it helped their cause; that was her duty. Now she also knew that she would give her life for Trev. And that was not duty at all.

**Day Seven**

According to her calculations, taking the weather into account, it was likely that a party would reach them in another few days, possibly as few as three; Cassandra thought that they would do best to stay in the shelter until that happened. The Inquisitor was much stronger and could probably travel if she had to, slowly, but it was not necessary. They had enough food to last for at least a week more, and likely longer if Cassandra's snares continued to be effective. They would be comfortable enough, if they could survive the tedium.

Trev had been even quieter than usual that morning, seeming tense and out of sorts. This was unusual, as she was normally good-humoured even under stress. She seemed absent-minded and lacking in focus. She responded irritably to questions about her recovery, and then was annoyed by her own clumsiness in dressing. The tremors were gone, but had left her with a weakness and consequent lack of precision in her movements, and for a rogue who prided herself on being able to move both her body and her weapons exactly as she intended, it was clearly infuriating.

She began the exercises she had been doing to strengthen herself and regain fine muscle control, but as she had strengthened she had begun to walk more, and on this morning the repetitive movement began to seem like the pacing of something in a cage, setting Cassandra on edge as well.

"I would really like to get out of here," the Inquisitor said finally, stopping.

"I will go out to check the snares later," Cassandra offered. "You are strong enough to come with me if you wish to." Trev was normally very active, and spent most of her time outdoors when she could; the Seeker thought that after almost a week trapped in the shelter by her illness, the Inquisitor must be terribly frustrated.

"I don't—it's not—ah," Trev grunted, "never mind." And then she resumed pacing.

Perhaps the Inquisitor did not wish to do anything with Cassandra. She had seen a great deal of the Seeker, and no one else; it would be difficult for anyone forced to spend time with only one other person. Today Cassandra was feeling a great deal of tension herself, and although she was not quite sure of the reasons it all seemed focused on the Inquisitor. Probably they had just spent too much time in close company.

Perhaps they needed to find a way to give both of them a little more time alone.

Cassandra's patience did not think it could stand much more of the pacing. She made tea, hoping that drinking it would break Trev's pattern of compulsive movement. But this did not work out well.

She set Trev's mug on the table. The Inquisitor sat down, as the Seeker had hoped she would, and reached for it, but she was again clumsy, knocking it over, and scalding tea splashed over her legs. She recoiled violently, knocking her chair over, and that knocked over the armour and weapons that had been set carefully against the nearby wall, which was bad enough; but in recoiling she also lost her balance and fell, banging into a barrel on which Cassandra had set a container of flour with which she had intended to make flatcakes, and the container overturned and emptied itself over the Inquisitor.

"Andraste's fucking hairy _tits_!" howled Trev, surging to her feet, and flung the table over, together with everything that was on it, including Cassandra's own tea. Part of the Seeker's mind filed this away as one of the more startling curses she had heard; the other part had already begun to react.

It was possible that Cassandra was more on edge than she thought, after the past few days. It was possible that she was not at her diplomatic best. It was possible that she had spent too long as a senior Seeker faced with apprentices who sometimes needed a stern hand to deal with the over-emotional hysteria that sometimes erupted in the barracks.

It was possible that she simply lost her temper.

"Stop it! You're behaving like a child!" she roared at the Inquisitor.

Trev, still holding the empty tea mug, made an inarticulate sound of rage and threw it at her.

She probably wasn't really trying to hit Cassandra so much as just throw something, anything, and in any case her aim was not good, because of the weakness of her muscles. She would have missed Cassandra by a considerable amount, but the Seeker, whose reflexes were excellent and who was now infuriated herself by this outrageous behaviour, caught the mug and threw it back, hard; and her aim was better. The Inquisitor yelped as it bounced off her leg into a corner, and reflexively threw the nearest thing at hand, one of Cassandra's gloves, and this time she really was trying to hit the Seeker.

They did not completely lose their grip; they did not throw actual weapons, despite their availability. But everything else that was small enough and light enough to be thrown was thrown. Many of the projectiles were not designed as such, making control difficult, so things often went astray. But Trev still got the worst of it, as Cassandra caught almost everything the Inquisitor threw, and returned it with considerably more accuracy.

But a few things got through to the Seeker as well. Cassandra regained her temper more quickly than Trev, probably because she found herself with an intimate item of apparel hanging over her head and thought, "We _really_  do need to wash these clothes," as she was ducking other incoming projectiles.

When Cassandra stopped throwing things Trev quickly ran out of missiles, and for a moment simply stood panting, leaning against a wall and staring at the Seeker. And then she put her face in her hands and slid down the wall and onto the floor, her shoulders shaking.

All of Cassandra's anger evaporated, and she was across the floor and dropping to her knees by the Inquisitor before she had time to think about it. She put a hand on Trev's knee, and heard strangled sounds and abruptly realized that the Inquisitor was _laughing_ , and then she remembered the clothing on her head and realized why, and pulled it off. And then the whole thing struck her as ridiculous, and she began to laugh as well, and fell back so that they sat side by side against the wall, helpless, and Trev clutched her arm and leaned her forehead against the Seeker's shoulder.

In retrospect, Cassandra thought that perhaps she had been premature in thinking that Trev was a good patient.

At some point she was not certain that Trev's shaking was still entirely from laughter, and there were tear stains in the flour on her cheeks that might not all have been from mirth, but the Inquisitor got herself under control before the weeping, if that was what it was, had a chance to go too far. "I'm sorry," said Trev, whose voice was still unsteady from whatever emotion had last gripped her. "That was appalling behaviour on my part."

"You did resemble a petulant four year old," agreed the Seeker. "How have we missed seeing this part of your personality?"

"I keep it well hidden, most of the time," said the Inquisitor. "It is only allowed out on very special occasions, so as not to alarm the horses." And then she looked sidelong at Cassandra. "I have been betrayed. You said you would fight by my _side_ ," she said plaintively, "not against me."

"I take arms against all threats," said the Seeker pompously, "even your baser nature." And then as the Inquisitor laughed, Cassandra realized that she still had a hand on Trev's knee, and removed it.

_You could have left it there_ , said the ache, which had apparently watched the whole thing with great interest.

_No, I could not,_ thought Cassandra firmly, standing and offering a hand up to the Inquisitor. "I think that we really must try to wash clothing," she said. "And ourselves. And clean up the mess. I will see if I can find a larger basin somewhere in this ruin. It would make things much easier."

The furnishings of the shelter had come from somewhere, and it might well be that they had come from other parts of the old fortress. Cassandra went exploring. Down in the lower levels she finally found a washbasin, and carried it triumphantly back to the shelter. By that time Trev had put the furniture back upright, and set out their gear where it belonged, and swept up most of the mess and washed what could be washed. Miraculously, although some items had new dents, nothing had actually been broken.

The basin was not large, and their clothing could not all be washed at once, so it took them the better part of the afternoon to get it all done. Late in the day Trev had said, "Oh, we might as well do it all," and they tied blankets round themselves like robes, with cords for belts, and washed the spare sets of clothes as well, so that it became difficult to move round the shelter without dislodging some precariously-hung item of clothing from the rafter pegs on which they were hung.

After they had washed the clothes, they must of course wash themselves. The fire had been built up, so the room was warm, if a little damp, and it was pleasant to set the blankets aside and scrub and then sluice down; this time, with the bigger basin, they managed to wash their hair, pouring dippers full of water for each other. Trev had a great deal of flour in her hair, and it took some time to get it all out. When Cassandra, with soap in her eyes, slid on a slippery wet patch on the floor, the Inquisitor's hand shot out and caught her arm to steady her, and she felt the touch long after Trev had taken her hand away.

_You like her touch_ , said the ache.

_Of course I do_ , Cassandra retorted. _She is my friend_.

When they had finished Cassandra sluiced the stone flags thoroughly, sweeping the dirty water into the corners. There already was a great deal of water spilled, so there was little point in trying to keep the floor dry, but this might help keep things a little cleaner.

"Our clothing will not be dry until morning, so we are condemned to our blankets," said Cassandra afterwards, wrapped in the referenced wool and sitting at the table with tea. "If the rescue party comes tonight they will be thoroughly scandalized." But Trev, who was trying to wrap the folds of her blanket around her feet to keep them warm without exposing any other bits of herself to drafts, just laughed at her.

"We will set a fashion," she said. "It will be the newest thing in Orlais, with the nobles wearing blankets and the servants wearing silks. The most elegant will wear very old horse blankets, with holes that expose their flesh in provocative ways."

"I expect that the blankets would generally look better on the horse," said Cassandra drily.

The Seeker had snared another hare and made another stew, this time with the Inquisitor's assistance and interested participation, and it was as successful as the first. After they ate they sat near the fire and talked.

Neither seemed to wish a serious conversation. They avoided most subjects relating to the war, though they did turn to talking somewhat about the advisors and companions and their work. Trev explained that something that Josephine had been involved in, some diplomatic negotiation of the utmost delicacy, was about to come to fruition and required her presence in Val Royeaux for a space of two or three weeks.

"Of course," said the Inquisitor, "Leliana is upset that she must go for so long, although she knows it is necessary. They have been lovers for too short a time for her to accept a separation complacently. I wonder if she might actually leave her aerie and accompany our Ambassador, at least for part of the time."

Cassandra stared at her, taken aback. "They—Leliana and Josephine are together?"

It was the Inquisitor's turn to stare. "You didn't know? They have been for a little while. They have been discreet, but it's not a secret."

"I—no," said Cassandra blankly. "I have been out on expeditions a great deal, and have not seen much of what has been happening in Skyhold. But I suppose I have also not been paying attention." But then she smiled. "I am glad. It is good that they can find happiness in each other, despite the terrible things that are happening in the world."

"I think so too," said Trev, and they smiled at each other, and then the Inquisitor's expression suddenly and inexplicably shifted somehow, and she looked away.

Puzzled, but not caring to remark on it, Cassandra said somewhat wryly, "Is there anything else of importance that I have missed?"

The Inquisitor quirked an eyebrow. "You _have_ noticed Bull and Dorian?"

"That would be hard to miss," said the Seeker, who had accompanied them on several expeditions since their involvement began and had learned to set her tent as far away from theirs as possible.

"But you weren't at the last night of Wicked Grace," said Trev reflectively, "so you would have not heard them suggesting that Cullen join them in a threesome. Honestly, I suspect that this was said solely for the pleasure of watching Cullen blush. Which he did, most gratifyingly, being Cullen. But I think that it would be interesting to see their faces if he ever offered to take them up on their suggestion."

The Seeker laughed at the idea, and they moved on to other subjects. Cassandra thought that both of them were being careful with what they said; the morning had been... interesting... and the previous day's conversation had been a little too painful for comfort.

It had been honest. There was nothing she had said that she would not say again, painful or not. It was just that she felt scraped raw by the words, and she was not quite sure why, or by whose words, her own or the Inquisitor's. She only knew that on this evening she wanted to find laughter, not pain.

_Be gentle_ , said the ache, _be kind_. And she did not know if it meant to the Inquisitor or to herself.

**Night**

Much later, long after they had gone to bed, Cassandra woke to a sound in the dark, a disturbed sound, a kind of soft ongoing mumbling roil of fear and pain, and recognized it: Trev was having a nightmare.

There had been a time, after Alexius had flung Dorian and the Inquisitor into the future, when Trev could not free herself from nightmares. She had written a clear, factual report about what had happened in that future that never came to be, a report that was bad enough in what it told, and then refused to say more about it. It was only later, when the Seeker had helped a very drunken Herald to her quarters, that Cassandra realized how badly the Inquisitor had been affected by what she had experienced. But in the end the dreams had seemed to pass, and now when they shared a tent it was normally without disturbance.

They had been lying back to back; she rolled over and said, "Inquisitor—you are dreaming," and put out a hand to touch her on the shoulder, shaking her gently.

Trev made a noise and then went rigid, coming awake, and said, "What—"

"You were dreaming," said Cassandra.

"Ah," said Trev, a tight exhalation, and then, "Sorry." And then a tremor shook her, and again, and then again, waves that turned into a continuous shivering. It was very slight; if Cassandra had not still had a hand on her shoulder she would not have known it was happening.

When Trev had been shaken by the tremors caused by the dragon's bolt, there had been nothing Cassandra could do to help except tell her that it would end, but this was different. This was a nightmare, and after a nightmare a person could be comforted until they regained their composure. This time she might be able to give comfort, and she found that she wanted very much to give comfort; she felt a fierce protective tenderness that _demanded_ that she give comfort. She wrapped her arm around Trev's waist from behind and pulled her close.

They lay spooned together for a little while. Cassandra felt the tremors gradually ease, and some of the rigidity began to pass from Trev's back, and her breathing began to settle. And then suddenly Trev caught Cassandra's hand where her arm wrapped around the Inquisitor's waist, and pulled it up to rest tucked under hers, holding it hard against her chest. Cassandra could feel the beating of Trev's heart against her hand.

And not just her heart. Cassandra could feel the swelling of Trev's breast under her hand, and a sudden unexpected bolt hit her low in the belly. She stopped breathing, and moved her hand a little in confusion, and that was worse, because now she could feel Trev's nipple against her palm, and the bolt turned into an ache that was painful and utterly bewildering in its intensity, if not its meaning. She could feel Trev's chest rising and falling, breaths that were deep and even but somehow not yet calm. She swallowed hard and managed to start breathing again, but her breath was unsteady. She wanted to free her hand from Trev's fingers—but not to take it away. She lay very, very still and hoped that Trev would fall asleep and she could disentangle herself without—

_Touch her_ , said the ache.

_No_ , she thought. _This is the Inquisitor. This is the Herald of Andraste_.

_I don't care_ , replied the ache rebelliously.

_But she is a woman_ , she thought. _I don't—_

_And_? said the ache, disagreeably inclined to argue. _I think you do_.

_She might not want_ —

_Find out_ , said the ache, and then, persuasively, _Her nipple is hard_.

And it was, oh Maker, it was.

And then Trev, whose breathing had been so even, abruptly took a much deeper, shaky breath, and the nipple moved against Cassandra's palm, and Cassandra quite involuntarily found her fingers stretching and tightening, and Trev arched very slightly against the Seeker's hand, her own fingers shifting slightly to press Cassandra's hand more firmly against her breast, and Cassandra took a deep, shaky breath of her own and put her lips against the back of Trev's neck, and moved her hand in the way the ache insisted she must.

There was a moment when time held still, then, when the only thing that was real was the hand that she moved and the scent of Trev's skin and response of the flesh her fingers touched so slowly, so lightly. But then Trev was moving as well, not to pull away, but shifting and turning toward her, and Trev's lips were finding hers, soft and sweet in the darkness, and kissing her, light kisses, teasing kisses. But it was an awkward angle. _More_ , said the ache, urgently. Cassandra rolled up onto one elbow then, to kiss her properly, shifting a little more over her, and feeling Trev's arms come round her and pull her down again as the kiss deepened.

It was a very _distracting_ kiss. The ache liked it very much. Trev's knee nudged hers uncomfortably; she moved her leg out of the way and found it had come to rest between Trev's thighs, and the ache liked that even better.

Cassandra knew in principle how women made love, from the novels she read, but she had never put theory into practice. She had never expected to. But it did not seem so difficult. It did not seem difficult at all. To touch another woman was astonishing; familiar and unfamiliar all at once; it was a wonder. Lightheaded, she put her mouth to Trev's breast, let her lips follow its shape, tasting, teasing. She let her hand slide lower, still feather light, exploring the terrain of Trev's skin, certain and uncertain. And perhaps her uncertainty made her a little too slow, for after a while Trev's hand caught hers round the wrist, and pulled it lower still. _Yes, this!_ said the ache, and she felt soft curls and then wet warmth round her fingers, _yes, this_ , and she moved her hand and Trev made a noise and let go of her wrist and wrapped both arms round her with a grip that drove a huff of breath from her lungs, and moved against her, fluid warmth and straining muscles, and she felt the pressure of Trev's thigh between her own legs and caught her breath. _Yes, oh yes_ , said the ache. And then the only thing in the world was the two of them moving together, and the desperate harshness of their breathing, and the heat around her fingers and between her legs. Trev cried out, a hoarse inarticulate sound, her back arched under Cassandra, against her hand, and shivered, and again, and her hips jerked, and Cassandra felt a wave roll over her, tumbling her until she could not breathe, and fell gasping across Trev's body.

They lay like that for some time, until their breathing began to steady. Cassandra realized that a good deal of her weight lay over the Inquisitor, and began to lift herself off, but Trev's arms tightened around her, preventing her. So she lay still, and eventually began to think for the first time in quite some time.

Or, more accurately, she began to worry.

She had not expected—this—when she reached to hold Trev. She had only expected to give the comfort of touch, and feel the Inquisitor slide back into sleep, and then she would have turned away again, to sleep herself. She had not expected the ache to ride her so. She had not expected to find herself wanting to touch Trev intimately.

_Then you were not paying attention_ , said the ache, which had not receded as far as she would have expected.

The ache.... It was not _exactly_ the ache she had felt on the other days, the ache of wanting to offer comfort, to make the pain stop... but it had been there then, even if she had not seen it.

The ache rolled its eyes.

It had been there, even if she had not wished to see it.

If she was honest with herself, it would be more truthful to say that she had not expected to allow herself to touch Trev intimately. That she had not _intended_ to allow herself to touch Trev intimately. That she had very, very carefully refused to think about touching Trev intimately.

And now... this.

She should not have touched Trev. What on earth had she been thinking? This was the Herald. This was a woman touched by Andraste herself.

_She is still a woman_ , said the ache.

And she was the Inquisitor as well; she was Cassandra's commander, if not exactly her military superior.

_Which is exactly why she could not touch you first_ , said the ache.

No. That was not the point. The point was that Trev had been badly shaken by her dreams, she was in great emotional distress, and Cassandra had taken advantage of her. She had forgotten her duty. Her place was at the Herald's back, to be her protector. It was not...

She had not been thinking clearly. She should not have listened to the ache.

_She liked it_ , said the ache.

Well, yes, but if she had been in her normal mind she probably would not have responded.

_She would respond_ , said the ache. _She wants you. She cares for you_.

But Cassandra was not convinced. The Inquisitor was her friend, and cared for her as a friend; that did not mean she really wanted—and now she would feel obligated. For a little while, at least.

Because even if it was true that the Inquisitor might have responded, would it have really been with serious intent? That was doubtful. Cassandra was older than Trev, she was thirty-seven, and Trev was still in her twenties, an age when things changed quickly and often and people did not seem to want to commit. When Cassandra had rebuffed the Inquisitor's flirting so many months ago, she had watched the Inquisitor carefully for a time afterwards. Trev had not shown signs of emotional distress, past the first shock of her rejection. It was therefore clear that her interest had been only in a casual, transitory liaison. As it no doubt still was. The Inquisitor did not care, or at least not—

Not as Cassandra did. Not with—

This was a terrible thought. It was all very well to blame the ache, but the truth was, as she knew perfectly well, that an ache alone had never been able to motivate her to become intimate with someone. It took much, much more than that.

She did not want a casual affair with the Inquisitor. The thought of a casual affair with Trev made her stomach hurt, and her heart. She thought of what it would be like, and found the thought unbearable. She would have to break it off; she should never have allowed it to start.

The ache tried to say something, but she would not hear it. Trev's arms were still around her. She must speak. "I am sorry... I should not have touched you..."

" _What?_ " said Trev.

"I took advantage of you—of your state," said Cassandra miserably, and then took advantage of the sudden startled laxness of the Inquisitor's grip to slide off her to one side; but Trev reflexively tightened her hold again and Cassandra could not move far.

"You—took advantage of me?" said Trev somewhat blankly.

"You were distressed, and instead of offering comfort, I... " Cassandra stopped. "It was not an honourable thing to do. You should not feel... obliged to me."

There was a very long pause. It was much too dark to see the Inquisitor's expression. Her grip had not changed; it had neither tightened nor loosened. Then Trev said slowly, "Cassandra... are you saying that you cared nothing for me when you touched me, that all you cared for was the pleasure of touching?"

" _What?_ " said Cassandra, stung. "No, of course not. I touched you because..." And then she fell into confusion and stopped.

"I do not believe," said Trev after a moment, "that you would make love to someone that you did not greatly care about. Am I wrong?"

Cassandra swallowed. "No," she said hoarsely. "But—"

"Good," said the Inquisitor. "Because I would not allow someone to touch me unless I cared greatly about them. No matter how distressed I was."

Cassandra moved her mouth, but no words came.

"It is possible in principle," said Trev, "that one might take advantage of someone in a state of distress, and that such a person could be maneuvered into a position in which a physical response, and then a sense of obligation rather than genuine interest, was invoked, and that might be seen as dishonourable. But that assumes that the person in question would not want to be taken advantage of while they were in their right mind. It assumes that the person does not already feel a very, very deep affection, and that they have not wanted to be touched for a very, very long time. And none of these things apply to me."

"You—I—" Cassandra found herself staring blankly at the Inquisitor's shadowed face, trying to work out the meaning in that convoluted series of sentences. "If one was maneuvered," she said hesitantly, and then lost the train of it completely.

And then Trev said, in a softer voice, "I am trying to say that I love you, Seeker Pentaghast."

Oh.

_Oh_.

She couldn't speak. But she could move, and her arms came round Trev, awkward and clumsy and desperate, and pulled her close, as close as a breath, as close as a dream. She did not think that she would ever be able to let go. She buried her face in Trev's neck and closed her eyes and breathed. Breathing was difficult—something kept trying to throw its rhythm off—but she could do it, if she was careful.

Trev's hand slid up her cheek and brushed gently through the hair at her temple, and then again and again, infinitely tender, gentling her, and that feeling, that safety, was all there was, all she would allow to exist. She did not wish to think about this. Perhaps this could not happen, could not last; but she had this moment.

And then Trev's hand slid round to the back of her head, and knotted in the hair there, and Trev's breath was warm, and her mouth...

"Just in case you have doubts," said Trev after some time, "I would like to make it clear exactly how I feel about you. How I have felt about you for a very long time." And she released her grip on Cassandra's hair and kissed her again, very gently. "I love you," she said. "I want you. Beyond all sense and reason." And then she began to touch Cassandra, very slowly and very thoroughly, with mouth and hands, and every touch was a kiss and a commitment. And when Cassandra rose to her, losing herself again and falling, falling, Trev was there to catch her and hold her.

"You are everything I want," said Trev softly, against her belly. And Cassandra knew that it was true.

_Told you so_ , said the ache in a satisfied tone. And for once she did not wish to argue.

 

_FINIS_

**Author's Note:**

> Where it came from—I was innocently going along minding my own business, working out the details for another Josephine/Leliana story, and along came a smutty scene that included Cassandra arguing with her own not-very subconscious. Well, where did that come from? So I thought about it, and then all these hurt/comfort clichés said that it was time I wrote one of THOSE stories, and so, well, this is what happened.
> 
> Trev's affliction—please try to suspend disbelief and assume that the effects of a MAGICAL electrical bolt from a dragon would differ from what would happen if you touched a live wire. The effects are invented wholesale and the symptoms are structured for the sake of the H/C. It's based on the premise that the bolt would scramble the electrical currents in one's brain for some days, and that the effects would be very unpleasant. I wanted something that would be really painful and cause physical effects such as seizures, but not do lasting damage. I have very little medical knowledge, but I know this isn't realistic; I do know that an electrical shock at dangerous levels, in the real world, would have much more serious consequences and likely do internal damage. So my apologies to anyone who read this and went, "This is NOT what would happen in the real world, this is utter nonsense." Yes, it is. Just like the dragons.
> 
> Their gear—I am assuming for the sake of the story that the Inquisitor would not ALWAYS travel with a horde of scouts acting as invisible pack animals, and would in such cases carry some kit with them. We will not think too hard about how they manage packs with over the shoulder weapon harnesses. (I wish I had scouts to carry everything when I went hiking... Hello? Harding? I know I'm not as cool as the Inquisitor, but...)
> 
> Trev pitches a fit—this was my partner's plot suggestion. She thought it would be realistic, given the circumstances, context, and who Trevelyan is in canon. I thought about it somewhat hesitantly, and decided yes, it was. Trevelyan is a youngest child—I headcanon her as about 27, ten years younger than Cassandra, though I think canon makes her younger than that. As a youngest child it's likely that up until becoming Herald/Inquisitor she's likely not had really serious responsibilities, so she's not used to that kind of pressure. She copes very well on the whole, but give her a debilitating illness and trap her in a small space with someone for whom she feels apparently unrequited love and an astonishing amount of unresolved sexual tension and, well, anyone could be excused the occasional hissyfit.
> 
> The ache rolled its eyes—I'm sorry. That was written with full consciousness. I couldn't help myself.


End file.
